Falling in love with a ruthless billionaire

Jessica's POV

The traffic light turned green.

I gripped my bag tighter and rushed across the road, my heart pounding with excitement. Today was special; I had purchased my ticket weeks before to explore the Vincent Galleria Museum, one of the city's oldest and most renowned art museums. Art has consistently been my escape, a world where I could freely communicate my emotions. The idea of witnessing iconic masterpieces in person excited me greatly.

Upon arriving at the majestic entrance, the soaring columns and detailed designs on the building's exterior left me in awe. I entered, welcomed by the subtle aroma of worn canvas and polished wood. The gentle murmur of subdued talks resonated throughout the large corridors.

I reached the security checkpoint, presented my ticket, and received a visitor badge. My fingertips grazed the plastic, anchoring me in the present. This was it.

As soon as I entered the exhibition hall, my eyes opened wide in amazement. Wall-mounted paintings of varying sizes decorated the space, each narrating a tale that transcended language. Some were lively, overflowing with color, whereas others were shadowy and enigmatic. They communicated with me in a manner I couldn't explain.

I walked slowly, taking in every detail, stopping every few moments to capture images of the ones that intrigued me the most. I longed to paint-my fingers itched to express the feelings I felt merely by observing them.

While I examined a strikingly lovely portrait of a woman with mournful eyes, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out and smiled when I saw the caller ID. Timothy.

"Hey," I answered, my voice soft as I continued to gaze at the painting.

"Hey, babe. Just checking in. How's it going?" Timothy's warm voice came through the speaker.

I turned away from the painting and walked toward a quieter corner. "It's amazing, Tim. Honestly, the ticket was worth every penny. I've never seen anything this breathtaking before."

He chuckled. "I can hear the excitement in your voice. I'm glad you're having fun. Listen, I want you to get ready tonight-I'm taking you out on a date."

I grinned, my heart skipping a beat. "Really? Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," he teased. "But dress your best, okay?"

I let out a small squeal. "Okay, I will!"

"That's my girl. I'll pick you up at seven. Love you."

"Love you too," I said before ending the call.

I placed my phone back in my pocket, feeling more unburdened than ever. Today was looking to be ideal.

I spent an additional hour appreciating the artwork before finally choosing to go home. As I went outside, the sky had dimmed a little, an indication of evening approaching. I called a taxi and leaned against the window, fantasizing about my date with Timothy.

When I arrived home, something felt... wrong.

The usual warmth of our home was absent. The television was silent, and there was no aroma of my mom's cooking coming from the kitchen.

It was eerily silent.

I frowned, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. "Mom? Dad?" I called out. No response.

A heaviness filled my chest as I entered the living room; it was empty.

I ignored the heaviness and took my bag to my room before going to my parents' bedroom. I knocked gently before pushing the door open a little.

What I witnessed caused my stomach to churn.

My father sat on the bed, smiling as if he had won the lottery, while my mother sat next to him, her face pale and her eyes swollen.

"Dad? Mom?" I proceeded cautiously. "What's going on?"

My father's smile grew bigger. "Jessica, darling, please take a seat. We need to tell you something important."

I looked at my mom, but she turned her eyes away from me. My heart was pounding as I slowly took a seat next to her.

She inhaled deeply, her hands shaking as she extended them toward mine. "Jessica... you're getting married tomorrow."

The words struck me hard as if I had been punched in the stomach.

I blinked. My mind went blank.

"I'm...marrying? What?" My voice came out in a whisper, my throat tightening.

"You're getting married," my father repeated, his tone firm.

I let out a shaky laugh. "That's not funny, Dad."

My mom squeezed my hand, and I turned to her in disbelief. "Mom?"

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't say anything.

"You don't understand, sweetheart," my father said, his voice filled with excitement. "You're marrying a billionaire. Raymond Shaw."

My chest tightened, and the room felt smaller like the walls were closing in. "What the hell are you talking about?"

My father's expression didn't change. He looked... proud. Like he had accomplished something great.

"You see, Jessica," he continued, leaning forward, "your mother and I took a loan from Shaw Enterprises years ago. We used it to raise you, to keep this family going. But we couldn't pay it back."

I froze.

No. No, no, no.

My mother finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "We tried, Jessica. But the debt kept growing. We had no choice."

I shook my head, refusing to believe what I was hearing. "So what? You sold me off like some object?" My voice cracked.

My father laughed, actually laughed, as if this was some kind of joke. "It's not like that. It's a business deal. And we're getting more than just clearing our debt-we'll be wealthy for life!"

A strangled sob escaped my throat. "Are you serious?"

"Jessica-"

"Don't," I snapped, standing up so fast the chair screeched against the floor. "You sold me! To a man, I don't even know!"

"You should be grateful!" my father said, his voice sharp now. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are? Women would kill to be in your position!"

I stared at him, horrified. "You're insane."

My mother stood up, reaching for me, but I pulled away.

"Jessica, please-"

I shook my head, tears blurring my vision. "No. No, this can't be real."

But deep down, I knew it was.

My father was smiling. My mother was crying and tomorrow... I was getting married.

To a stranger.

To Raymond Shaw.

Jessica's POV

I lay on my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, my mind numb from crying for hours. My eyes burned, my throat ached, and my body seemed to have given up on me. I cried until there were no tears left to shed. The truth of what was happening overwhelmed me, suffocating me like an unseen force I couldn't break free from.

The vibration of my phone in my bag startled me. I directed my gaze towards it, already knowing that it was Timothy. My fingers moved restlessly, tempted to grab it, but what was the point? What would I even say?

The ringing stopped, and a second later, his voice came through my voicemail.

"Babe, please call me back. I'm on my way to pick you up."

More tears slipped from my eyes, adding to the dampness of my pillow. Timothy. The man I loved. The man who was supposed to be my future. And now? Now, I was being forced to marry a stranger.

Minutes passed in silence before I heard the sharp screech of tires outside. My body tensed. Then came the knock on the door.

I forced myself up, wiping my face quickly and checking the mirror. My reflection was a mess-red, swollen eyes, disheveled hair, a lifeless expression. I fixed my hair the best I could, hoping Timothy wouldn't notice how broken I was.

As I reached the door, I heard voices from the entrance. My heart sank.

"She's sick. She won't be going anywhere tonight," my father's voice came, firm and unapologetic.

"But we had plans," Timothy argued, frustration clear in his voice. "She sounded fine when we spoke earlier. I just want to see her."

My father remained unmoved. "Come another day."

I heard Timothy sigh, the sound filled with disappointment. My chest tightened as I made my decision.

"Timothy!" I called out, stepping into view.

He turned immediately, his gaze locking onto mine. I saw the shift in his expression-first relief, then confusion, and finally concern. He studied my face, taking in my tired eyes and the sadness I couldn't hide.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

I opened my mouth, desperate to call him for help, but before I could, my father's voice cut in sharply.

"Jessica, go back to your room," he ordered. "Your mother will help you prepare for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Timothy repeated, his eyes squinting. "What are you referring to by tomorrow?"

But, before he could receive a response, my mother grabbed my arm and dragged me away. I glanced back at him, my heart pained as he looked at me with concern and confusion. He was putting the pieces together, but he didn't have enough time.

In my room, my mother seated me, her expression heavy with remorse.

"Jessica, Raymond is a good man," she said gently. "He's wealthy and he will take care of you."

I shook my head, filled with disbelief. "Mom, how were you able to-"

"It's over," she murmured, interrupting me.

She averted her gaze and retrieved a suitcase, silently packing my clothes. I sat there, watching in horror as my life was taken from me bit by bit. When she was done, she looked at me, guilt evident in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered before leaving.

I felt the urge to scream, to cry, to fight, but I didn't have any remaining strength. The room's quiet enveloped me completely as I tucked myself into my bed, allowing the darkness to consume me.

The next day...

A rough shake jolted me awake.

"Get up," my father's voice commanded.

I blinked groggily, my vision clearing to find several men in black suits standing at my door. My stomach twisted.

"They're here to take you," my father said, his tone disturbingly cheerful. "Time to go get married."

I stared at him, searching for a hint of remorse, of regret-but there was none. Just excitement and greed.

I had no fight left. No words. Just a numb acceptance that I had lost control of my own life.

One of the guards took my suitcase, and I followed them out without looking back at the parents who had sold me like an object.

The limousine ride was silent. I leaned my head against the window, watching as the city lights blurred together. My body was exhausted, my mind empty. Somewhere along the way, I drifted into a restless sleep.

"Miss, we've arrived."

A deep voice pulled me from my slumber. I blinked awake, my eyes adjusting to the sight outside.

Luxury. That was the only word to describe it.

A grand building stood before me, glowing under the sunlight. Expensive cars filled the parking lot, and well-dressed guests strolled toward the entrance. My heart pounded in my chest.

The guards led me inside, and the moment I stepped through the doors, my stomach churned.

Famous faces. Celebrities. Powerful businessmen. They were all here. Watching.

I was ushered into a private room where a team of women was already waiting for me. Without a word, they began dressing me-slipping me into a white wedding gown that felt like a prison. Heavy jewelry was placed around my neck, and thick makeup covered my face, making me look like a doll.

But I felt nothing. Just emptiness.

Once they were finished, they grabbed my arms and led me to the altar and that's when I saw him.

Raymond Shaw.

A man in his early thirties, standing tall in a luxurious black suit. Handsome, yes-but there was something in his eyes that sent a shiver down my spine. A coldness. A hunger.

As I reached the altar, he smiled-a slow, devilish grin that made my stomach twist.

The priest began speaking, but the words barely registered in my mind. I was trapped in a haze, barely aware of what was happening.

Raymond said his vows. Then the priest turned to me.

It was my turn.

Silence stretched as I stood there, refusing to speak.

I felt it before I saw it-the shift in Raymond's expression. The sharp glare he shot my way. A warning.

Fear gripped my chest.

"I..." My voice wavered. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms.

"I do," I whispered.

The words felt like poison.

The priest smiled. "You may now kiss the bride."

Raymond wasted no time.

His hands grabbed my waist, pulling me closer to him. Before I could react, his lips crashed against mine in a possessive, dominating kiss. I froze, every muscle in my body locking up.

When he finally pulled back, he leaned in close, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered words that sent a wave of terror through me.

"Now you belong to me."

Jessica's POV

The air was thick with laughter and the clinking of champagne glasses. I followed behind Raymond like a lost shadow, his presence commanding the room as he spoke to different guests. His grip on my hand was firm, his touch neither warm nor affectionate just a claim, a reminder that I now belonged to him.

I kept my head down, silent, until an older man with silver hair and sharp eyes turned his attention to me.

"You must be Jessica," he said with a charming smile. "Quite the beauty."

I forced a polite smile, my stomach twisting in discomfort. "Thank you, sir."

"You must be happy," he continued, sipping his wine. "Being married to a man like Raymond is a privilege."

I had no words. What could I say? That my father sold me off like a piece of property? That I was standing here in a wedding dress, feeling like a prisoner rather than a bride?

Before I could think of a response, Raymond's grip on my wrist tightened. "That's enough, Mr. Bennett. My wife and I have other guests to attend to."

His voice was smooth but edged with irritation. The older man chuckled, raising his glass in surrender. "Of course, of course. Enjoy your wedding."

Raymond didn't wait for me to respond. He pulled me away, his fingers digging into my skin. The second we were out of sight of the guests, he leaned in close.

"You will not speak unless I allow it," he murmured against my ear, his tone chilling.

I stiffened, my breath catching in my throat.

Before I could process his words, he was already leading me outside. A black limousine waited for us, and without another word, he pushed open the door, motioning for me to get in. I hesitated for half a second, then obeyed. What choice did I have?

The car pulled away from the venue, the city blurring into streaks outside the window. I stole a glance at Raymond, who had already poured himself a glass of champagne. He took slow, deliberate sips, his expression unreadable.

I swallowed, gathering my courage. "Raymond, I-"

"Did I give you permission to speak?" he cut me off coldly, not even sparing me a glance.

My body went rigid.

I wanted to scream, to fight back, but I bit my lip instead, forcing the tears to stay at bay. I turned my face away, staring out the window. The reality of my situation was sinking in fast, this wasn't just a forced marriage. This was ownership.

Minutes later, the limousine slowed to a stop. One of the guards opened the door, and as I stepped out, a small gasp escaped my lips.

The mansion before me was something out of a dream. Or rather, a nightmare.

It was massive, almost intimidating. The towering gates, the marble pillars, the cascading waterfall in the center of the driveway, it all screamed wealth and power.

But none of it felt welcoming.

Raymond was already walking inside, not sparing me a glance. I quickly followed, my heels clicking against the marble floors.

The interior was even more breathtaking-gold chandeliers, polished wooden staircases, velvet curtains. Everything was perfect.

Except I wasn't a guest. I was his prisoner.

A young maid hurried toward us, bowing deeply. "Welcome home, sir."

Raymond whispered something to her, his tone low. Then, without another word, he disappeared down the hall.

The maid turned to me and gave a small bow. "Mr. Shaw has instructed me to show you your room and give you a tour of the house."

I nodded numbly, following her through the endless hallways.

She pointed out different rooms as we passed-the grand library filled with books I'd probably never touch, the massive kitchen where chefs prepared gourmet meals, and the elegant dining hall that looked like it belonged in a palace.

Finally, she stopped in front of a door and pushed it open.

"This is your room, ma'am."

I stepped inside, and for the first time that day, I felt genuine surprise.

The bedroom was huge. A king-size bed with silk sheets, a walk-in closet filled with expensive dresses, a balcony overlooking a beautiful garden. It was a room fit for royalty and yet, I felt nothing but emptiness.

A guard entered, placing my suitcase on the floor before exiting without a word. The maid hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to say something, but in the end, she simply bowed and left, closing the door behind her.

The room was silent.

I exhaled slowly and sank onto the bed, my wedding dress pooling around me. I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing.

This was my life now.

I turned my head toward my suitcase, forcing myself to move. I unzipped it, pulling out my belongings, placing them in the wardrobe even though I knew none of this mattered. These weren't my choices. My life was no longer my own.

After a while, I picked up my phone and turned it on. A flood of missed calls.

My heart clenched as I saw Timothy's name over and over. My fingers trembled as I played the voicemails.

"Babe, what the hell is going on? Why are people saying you're married to Raymond Shaw?"

Another one.

"Call me back. Please."

And another.

"I tried talking to your parents but they refused to let me in, please; come back."

My throat tightened. I wanted to call him, to explain everything, to beg him to take me away from this nightmare.

But it was too late.

Tears blurred my vision as I clutched the phone to my chest.

I curled up on the bed, exhaustion washing over me.

I don't remember when sleep took me, but when I woke up, the room was dark. My body felt heavy, my heart even heavier.

Then I heard it, the soft creak of my bedroom door opening.

I froze, footsteps, Slow and deliberate.

A shadow moved toward my bed, and before I could react, a hand grabbed my chin, tilting my face up.

Raymond.

His eyes gleamed in the darkness, his grip firm but not painful. His lips curved into a smirk. "Welcome home, wife."

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my ears.

His fingers traced my jawline before he leaned down, his breath hot against my ear.

"Come downstairs for dinner."

And with that, he released me and walked away, leaving me trembling in the dark.